


Ghosts

by Fowluu



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25037404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fowluu/pseuds/Fowluu
Summary: Valerio sees someone most painfully familiar at the Halidom.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Okay but SERIOUSLY same design

Valerio considered himself to be a very patient type of man. He knew how to keep a level head in a stressful situation, how to compose himself in the face of adversity, to be as cool as ice. It was a trait that was necessary for a knight captain, with all the high intensity situations war could bring with it. You had to be calm if you wanted those whom you led to have confidence in you, to feel secure. While that may no longer be his profession, those teachings lingered, the attitude expressed itself in his everyday life, and proved useful even in the culinary world. There was little one could do to get under his skin. 

He believed this, fully.

Until today. 

The overwhelming majority of him was a rational man. That part of him was telling him to remain calm, that what he was thinking was impossible. Yet, as small as it was, that little irrational part of him was managing to slip through the cracks, shouting nonsense and wild accusations, ignoring facts that he knew were true, when he looked at the person standing just across the Halidom courtyard. 

A dress of cerulean blue, curls of hair both neat and pink, and tied up with a ribbon, as blue as the one he kept tied around the hilt of his blade. 

His brain screamed at him, _that is Princess Primia, she had told him they would meet again, she had_.

His traitorous mouth joined that irrational feeling, against the will of his more logical self that was being pulled along uselessly beside him. "Princess Primia," he said, while his higher self reminded him she was dead. He had failed her, many years ago now. She died while he sat at her side, and held her hand, until it felt cold. And when the young woman turned to look at him, with eyes wide and round and green, he began to think maybe he was seeing ghosts. Perhaps being tortured for his ineptitude, for letting such a kind and innocent girl die, when he should have tried harder, when he should have been there for her. 

Those green eyes, those awful things that looked just like hers, narrowed slightly. "Well it's not the first time I've been called a princess. But my name is Catherine." 

Valerio knew that. He knew it was not his princess, and yet the ache in his heart still burned painfully at the confirmation. He was supposed to meet her again, so he could return her ribbon, so they could go into town together, and have lots of tasty food together. He knew this was an unlikely scenario.

He knew this.

Yet something in him felt like it was becoming unhinged, like his heart was beating too fast, and he could not breathe enough air to compensate for the overuse of oxygen in his panicked body. Through this, he managed, "Where are you from?" Little, hopeless threads, as if she did not already confirm she had no knowledge of what he spoke.

"Quinbell."

So, Southern Grastaea. No where near the Northern kingdom he once served, and was later annexed due to his ineptitude. No chance of even a distant relation to his lady. So why? Why did she have to look so tragically similar, as if the young girl was standing there before him, aged up 10 years, like she had never caught the chill of death? Was it simply to punish him? A person put into his life to remind him daily of his failures, no, no, that could not happen. He had done everything he could to save her. Hadn't he? No, he hadn't, he failed both her and his kingdom that day. Did he deserve to be punished? 

What rational sense remained present in his body tried to tell him that something was wrong. That he was not breathing properly, that excess adrenaline was causing his fingers to shake, that he wasn't able to focus his eyes on the subject of his current duress. When did the ground he thought to be so solid under his feet all these years turn out to be ice, now shattered in spider cracks, brittle as he. He could feel his chest scream, he couldn't breathe, _he couldn't breathe_ -

Perhaps he was like that for some time. Perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps it wasn't happening at all, and if he tried hard enough, he would wake up from a bad dream.

Perhaps.

When his senses allowed it, he became aware of the two hands holding onto his own, gripping down tightly, as if to ground him. They were warm, not cold, not dead, not like hers, and he tried to focus on that. 

"You seem like a distinguished fellow." He tried to focus on her voice, rather than his racing thoughts. It was difficult, but he managed. "It wouldn't do to have everyone see you like this, hm? What is your name?" 

The air in his lungs was cold, freezing, maybe filled with the splintered crystals from the ice beneath his feet that was once a solid foundation to support him. He was sure that was the only reason it was hard to speak, why his voice was weak. "It's Valerio, miss." She smiled at him, and he wanted to cry.

"Valerio, how nice. If you're like me, you wouldn't want anyone to catch you like this. Appearances are most important, after all." She wasn't wrong. It was not like him to act like this. If he had behaved in such a dreadful way when he was a captain, he would have led his men to slaughter. He felt betrayed by his own body and mind in this situation. Weak and emotional, over something he knew was wrong, was impossible, before he even got himself into the situation. 

The last time he remembered being so emotionally unsound was when he was first told Primia was going to die.

"Of course. You have my apologies for bothering you. I... thought you were someone else." 

"She must be very important to you."

"Most dearly." 

Catherine continued to smile, and feeling a little more level headed, he noticed it was a perfectly placed kind of look. Something that wasn't wholly genuine. He did not doubt her concern for him, no, it was nothing like that, it was more that she put care into the exact way she shaped her lips when she smiled, never showed her teeth, rather than letting her features fall naturally. 

Seeing he was at least slightly more composed, she let go of his hands, satisfied he was no longer going to collapse in a heap in front of her, completely undone by something he should have never allowed to effect him at all. How embarrassing. 

Still, Valerio could not deny how her appearance affected him, the memories it stirred up, despite his efforts to keep them close to his chest. If he tried, he could look through the fog of anguish and remember the happier days he had with Primia. How she changed him for the better, when he thought she wouldn't. He could remember why he became a chef in the first place. 

"Miss... if I may have a selfish request of you." She folded her arms as carefully as she smiled, waiting for him to speak. "I would like to cook something for you." 

This made her laugh, " _Oh ho ho,_ is that selfish? I'll let my chefs know how lucky they are." 

"For me, it is rather personal. Please allow this of me. I am told I make a wonderful vegetable stew." 

Catherine appeared to think about it for a moment longer, and he was almost worried she would deny his request. Perhaps it was weird, him requesting to cook for her, because he never got to cook for his princess. Because she never got to have her favorite vegetable stew before she passed.

Yet Catherine nodded, picking up his hand once more, leading him across the courtyard. For a moment he was reminded of how Primia would pull him along, always holding his hand. 

"As long as it has no onions." 

"I can do that."


End file.
